


The Lost Boy

by LizEBoredom



Series: The Lost Boy [1]
Category: Bloodbound (Visual Novel), Perfect Match (Visual Novel), The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Future, Crack Crossover, Crack Pairing, Crack Relationships, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, M/M, Multiple Crossovers, NSFW, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, Supernatural Elements, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 21:03:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17474936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizEBoredom/pseuds/LizEBoredom
Summary: The TRR gang are visiting New York for the holidays, when Maxwell finds himself leaving a nightclub with the wrong person.





	1. Fairytale of New York

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a post I saw on Tumblr. Someone asked if someone could write an AU where Maxwell gets lost in NY during Liam’s bachelor party and becomes one of Priya’s dancing houseboys, and here we are! However, rather than setting it during Liam’s bachelor party, I set it after Drake and Minah were married and visiting New York for the holidays. My TRR MC for Drake is Minah Cavendish and my PM MC is Minah Park. This is part of the Everything You Ever Wanted universe, in which Drake met Damien Nazario in New York during Liam's bachelor party and they became friends.

“So how long are you guys going to be in town?” Nadia flashed a smile to Maxwell as she asked the question. There was no doubt in Damien’s mind that poor Maxwell was not going to get out of New York unscathed. She’d had her eye on him since they’d met back in Cordonia, and now that they weren’t on the run, her attention was back on finding a husband. For his part, Maxwell seemed to not even notice that Nadia was flirting with him.

“We’re only here for the week, heading back on Monday,” Drake answered. “Cavendish decided we had to be home for the New Year’s Ball.” Damien watched him shoot her a look as he said that, while she just sent him a mischievous grin. Damien knew his prickly friend had met his match in this woman. He smiled over at his Minah, trying to communicate to her that they needed to rescue Maxwell from Nadia. “Hey Watson, how about we start up a drinking game?”

She grinned back at him, “You know I can’t resist a good drinking game, Sherlock. Nadia, come with me to grab the drinks.” Reluctantly, Nadia followed her to the bar.

Damien turned to Maxwell. “So Maxwell, how have you been enjoying your time in New York?”

Maxwell finished his drink and responded, “It’s been great! I’ve always loved it here.” He beamed a smile at the group. “I spotted a couple of clubs not too far from the hotel, and you can’t beat the shopping here.”

“So what do you think, guys? Truth or drink?” Nadia and Minah had returned with the drinks. Damien groaned. This game never ended well for him.

“Oh. My. God. YES!!!” Cavendish had practically shouted from across the table. Drake sent a look to Damien that could best be described as a mixture of horror and desperation. It was going to be a long night.

“I don’t know this game,” Maxwell chimed in, “how do you play?”

Nadia crossed over to him, handing him a drink. “The rules are simple. On your turn, we get to ask you questions, and you  _have_ to answer truthfully. If you refuse to answer, you have to take a drink, and your turn is over.”

“Oh, so it’s like truth or dare, but the dare is that you drink.”

“Uh…sure,” Nadia put her hand on Maxwell’s arm. “Why don’t you go first? I’d like to get to know more about you.”

 _Jesus Nadia, dial it back_ , Damien thought,  _he’s not staying in New York._

“Okay! Ask away!”  _Oh. My. God. This poor kid is clueless._

“So, Maxwell, is there anyone… _special_  back in Cordonia?”

“What a great question! Of course there is,” he said, grinning at her. Damien could see Nadia’s crestfallen look as Maxwell continued. “My older brother Bertrand is there, and his wife Savannah – she’s Drake’s sister, by the way – and my nephew Bartie. Oh! And of course, my friends Hana and Penelope, and King Liam, I can’t forget him, and Lord Grumpy-“

“Maxwell.” Drake glared at him. “That’s  _not_  what she – “

“Doesn’t matter, who else has a question for Maxwell?”

_Yep, it’s going to be a long night._

…

Maxwell was restless when they got back to their hotel later that night. He always found it difficult to sleep on planes, and the flight from Cordonia to New York was particularly long. He tried to battle his fatigue with energy drinks, but they wound him up to the point that he was jittery and restless, so that he was running on caffeine and adrenaline for most of the first day there.

They’d played the drinking game at the bar, but there wasn’t much he wasn’t willing to answer, so he hadn’t had much to drink, either. Drake and Damien, on the other hand, didn’t answer much. That didn’t really surprise Maxwell. He’d known Drake since they were children, and he’d never been much of a talker. And Damien, well, he’d only just met him last year, and not for very long, but he might as well have been Drake’s long-lost brother.

He decided to try to watch some American television in his hotel room for a while. Maybe it would help him relax. As he flipped through the channels, though, all he found were terrible Christmas specials and a lot of channels trying to sell things that nobody needed. Though he  _was_  tempted to pull out his credit card when he saw something called a “Snuggie” advertised. He thought about sleepovers with Hana, Drake, and Minah, and how much fun it would be to build pillow forts and dress in matching Snuggies.

The thought of Bertrand’s admonitions when he saw the credit card bill was enough to prevent him from making a rash decision, though. Although things were better for House Beaumont now that Minah had become the Duchess of Valtoria, Bertrand still insisted on reviewing Maxwell’s purchases from time to time.  _“To prevent wasteful spending on things like peacocks_ ,” he’d insisted. Maxwell sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He was too wired to sleep. He checked the local time, noting it was only just after midnight.  _Still early enough to go to a club_ , he thought.

He’d noticed a few places nearby, most of which seemed to have lines out front. After a short period of deliberation, Maxwell decided he was going out dancing.

…

Drake cracked his eyes open when he heard his phone alert him of a new message. Still half-asleep, he tried to find his bearings. Not his bed. New York. They were in a hotel in New York. He’d been out drinking. Cavendish was nestled in beside him, her long hair cascading over her pillow, her head resting on his chest. She was still sleeping soundly. He wondered who could be texting him at this time of night. Careful not to wake his sleeping wife, he reached for the phone.

**_1 New Message_ **

_Maxwell. Fuck. WHAT do you want right now?_

He tapped the notification to read the text.

“ _Hey Drake! What are you up to buddy?”_

Drake groaned, slamming his head back onto his pillow. He was tempted not to answer, but he knew Maxwell would just text him again. Or worse,  _call_. He shuddered involuntarily at the thought, then sent his reply as quickly as he could.

_“Sleeping. Like a normal person. Go to bed Maxwell.”_

He hoped that would be the end of it. But this  _was_  Maxwell, so of course it wasn’t the end.

_“I’ve decided to go out dancing. Grab Minah and let’s paint the town!”_

Drake took three deep breaths. He counted to ten. He used every bit of willpower he had not to throw his phone across the room. Instead, he simply typed his reply.

_“Maxwell. Cavendish and I are sleeping. It’s been a long day, and we went out earlier. Go to bed. Do not text me again until morning unless you’re on fire. No. Don’t text me even then. Call the fire brigade.”_

He turned his phone on silent and placed it back on the nightstand. He took one more deep breath, brushed some hair out of his wife’s face, and promptly fell back asleep.

…

Maxwell found himself in the middle of the dance floor of the second club he’d been to that night. There were dark, heavy velvet drapes lining the walls, neon lights everywhere, colored LEDs inside faux candelabras, a DJ, and platforms above the dance floor that people were dancing on solo. He’d danced with several women, busting out some of his best moves to impress the ladies. He found that he could dance for hours even when he was exhausted and jet-lagged. It was the one thing he’d found in his life that always made him feel good, even when things in his lie weren’t going right. It was the thing that got him through his mother’s death.

When he took a pause to get a drink at the bar, he noticed a beautiful woman staring at him. She was sitting in a private booth and was surrounded by attractive men and women. She had a very commanding presence and Maxwell found himself drawn to her. He watched her while he sipped his drink, a fruity concoction that would have made Drake cry if he could have seen it. Though she spoke to the others sitting with her, her eyes never left him. Maxwell threw her a cocky smirk.  _I do love New York_ , he thought to himself, as he set down his glass and headed back to the dance floor.

Before he could even register what was happening, she was behind him, reaching a hand around to his chest, pressing her chest against him. He could smell her intoxicating scent, feel the heat radiating off her body. He turned to face her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in closer to his body. She didn’t hesitate, grinding her hips into his, snaking her arms up to wrap around the back of his neck.

She pressed against him, and he against her. His free hand had traveled from her hip to travel up her waist and ghosted over the side of her breast. She was an exquisite creature, the most beautiful Maxwell had seen in a long time. She pressed her lips up to his neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses. He felt her lips move against his sensitive skin, feeling her teeth scrape against the flesh. He felt his blood moving through his veins as his chest pounded with the intensity of the moment, pulsing in time to the beat of the music, the undulating bodies moving in rhythm around them, and this woman who suddenly set his skin on fire.

He leaned down to her, crashing his lips into hers. It had been far too long since he’d been with anyone, his new responsibilities at House Beaumont keeping him tied to the estate more often. While he was grateful that Bertrand trusted him with more duties, it meant he wasn’t going out as often as he used to. He needed this, he  _wanted_ this. He wanted  _her_ , badly. Kissing this woman sent heat coursing through him, and he felt his excitement growing. With a husky growl, he whispered in her ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

She didn’t hesitate. Grabbing his hand, she led him through the door. She made a call on her phone and a car pulled up to the curb quickly. As she pulled him inside, Maxwell silently thanked his lucky stars for what he was sure was going to be the best night he had in a long time.

…

Drake awoke the next morning with a dull pounding in his head, his mouth feeling like it was full of cotton. He looked around the room blearily, vaguely noting the sound of the shower running. He glanced around the room, the evidence of the night before showing around the room in their discarded and scattered clothing. He grinned, still amazed that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other even after being married for a year. He noted that she’d left him a glass of water on his nightstand. Drinking it, he made his way into the bathroom. He heard her quietly singing to herself in the shower, one of those silly Christmas songs she loved so much.

“Hey Cavendish, I hear Santa doesn’t visit you if you’ve been naughty.”

He heard her laugh. “Is that why he’s never been to visit you, Mr. Grumpy Pants?”

He snickered. “Listen, temptress, I’m going to give you to the count of three to take that back, or I’m going to come in there and punish you.”

“Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen, love!”

“One.”

“I can’t hear you!”

“Two.”

She stuck her head around the curtain and stuck her tongue out at him.

“Three.”

“Oooh, I’m so scared.”

“Oh, you asked for it, Cavendish.”

Drake made his way into the shower, grabbing a squealing Minah around the waist, before capturing her lips with his.

…

Maxwell had no idea where he was.

The space was beautifully decorated, if a bit ostentatious. There was heavy, blood-red fabric adorning the furniture, curtaining the windows, even draped across the large bed he was on. Red jewels dripped from the chandelier. The bed was ridiculous. He’d never seen one this big before. It took up most of the room.

_How did I get here?_

“Well, good morning.”

Maxwell was staring into the face of what he was fairly sure was a supermodel. A shirtless supermodel in a fur vest. A supermodel with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

“Uh, hi. I’m Maxwell. Who are you? Where am I?”

“I’m Sergio. I’m assuming you’re the one Priya brought home with her.”

_Priya, huh? That woman from last night…I guess I forgot to ask her name._

“Follow me, Maxwell.”

“Where are we going?”

“I’m going to get you some clothes, and we’ll be heading to the dance studio.”

“The dance studio?”

“Most of Priya’s houseboys are former dancers, and she likes us to stay in shape.”

“Ah. Right. Wait, wha—“ before Maxwell could finish the thought, Sergio was leading him off to the biggest walk-in closet Maxwell had ever seen. Sergio pulled an outfit together that looked very much like the one he was wearing, and handed it to Maxwell with a smile.

“Here you go, just change into this and we’ll hit the studio.”

“Right. Uh…where?”

“Where what?”

“Where do I go to change?”

Sergio laughed. “You can change here, silly.”

Maxwell’s cheeks colored, but he changed. Sergio’s eyes remained on him the whole time.

“Nice tattoo,” he said with a smirk.

“Uh, thanks.”

Sergio led him to the dance studio, where several other young men were stretching.

“So, uh, Sergio. Where’s Priya now?”

Sergio looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

“Priya is  _sleeping_. She’s a goddess, she lives for the night.”

“Ah, right. A night owl, huh?”

“Yes. Though some of her, uh,  _friends_  often come to stay with us and will use us to feed while they’re here too.”

“I’m sorry, do what now?”

“You now, feed. Drink our blood. You must have let her do that or she wouldn’t have brought you here to join us as a houseboy.”

“As a what?”

Sergio looked at him again, eyeing him suspiciously. “How much do you remember about last night, Maxwell?”

“Not enough, apparently. Hey, I need to make a quick phone call. I’m traveling with friends, and they’re going to want to know where I am. Where…” he began, his voice faltering, “…uh, where am I?”

Sergio didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he walked over to some of the others in the room and began talking to them in a low voice. Maxwell pulled out his phone and called Drake.

“C’mon Drake, answer the phone. PLEASE.”

But it went to voicemail.  _Minah, I’ll call Minah. She’ll answer._

But that call went to voicemail as well.

_Shit. Shit, Maxwell. What have you gotten yourself into here? What do I do?_

He quickly fired of a text message to Drake, silently praying that he’d see it in time.

…

“We should stop by the bar and say hi to Daniel while we’re here.”

He smiled. He’d been expecting this. It was the first place he’d met her, and they went there together during Liam’s engagement tour. It was a special place for them, and it was becoming a tradition for them to visit whenever they came back to New York.

“I think that sounds like a great idea. What are we going to do with Maxwell?”

“Oh, call him and see if he’s up yet! Maybe he’ll want to come with us.”

Drake bit back a groan. He really didn’t want Maxwell to come with them to the bar, but he didn’t want to exclude him, either. He picked up his phone to call him and saw he’d missed a call from Maxwell. He also saw a new text.

_“Drake…I think I might be in trouble. I’m not sure where I am, but I’m sending you my location from my maps app. I need help. Please help.”_

“Uh, Cavendish? I think we’re going to need to put off that visit to the bar. Maxwell might be in trouble.”

“Oh, no, what’s he done now? Did he get arrested?”

“No. But there may be a situation. I need to make a call.”

He grabbed his phone, quickly dialing the one person he knew could help him.

“Nazario? It’s Drake. I need help.”

 


	2. Dirty Old Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The TRR gang are visiting New York for the holidays when Maxwell finds himself leaving a nightclub with the wrong person.

“So you’re telling me that Maxwell got kidnapped by a famous fashion designer? And he’s being held against his will?” Minah looked at Damien suspiciously, wondering what the real story was.  
  
I don’t know how I get myself mixed up in nonsense like this. Why can’t everyone just keep out of trouble?  
  
“I’m not saying kidnapped,” Damien explained. “I’m saying Drake got a text from Maxwell that he might be in trouble and that he needed help.”  
  
“I don’t understand what this has to do with Priya LaCroix,” Nadia interjected. “How did he even meet her?”  
  
“Look, I don’t actually know anything,” he responded, a bit harsher than he’d intended. “All I know is that Drake shared Maxwell’s location with me. I looked it up, and found out it’s owned by Priya LaCroix. I don’t even know if she knows he’s there. What I do know is that I need to meet up with Drake and Mara to see if we can extract him.”  
  
“Good luck with the Case of the Lost Lord, Sherlock.”  
  
Damien chuckled at her. Shaking his head, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her goodbye. He pressed his forehead to her and smirked. “Are you ever going to stop doing that?”  
  
She shook her head, eyes shining as she smiled at him. “I’ve already told you –“  
  
“…Watson always named Sherlock’s cases,” he finished her sentence for her. He’d heard her say it so many times, and yet would never get tired of it. “I’m glad I’ve got you looking out for me then, Watson.”  
  
I don’t know how the hell I got so lucky, but you’ll never regret it, Minah.  
…  
Maxwell wasn’t sure how he’d managed to end up a kidnapping victim. He remembered having a lot of fun dancing at a club last night, then picking up a really hot woman, and then waking up to a male model telling him he was now a houseboy. What would Bertrand say?  
  
He’d done everything he could to get in touch with Drake or Minah, but hadn’t managed to actually talk to either yet. He sent Drake a text what felt like hours ago, though he knew it had only been a few minutes.  
  
“Hey Maxie,” Sergio called out to him from across the room, shaking Maxwell out of his reverie. He looked over to him, wondering what they had planned for him. Sergio had told him that people were going to drink his blood, and he couldn’t imagine that was a euphemism for anything. “Come over and join us. We’re going to freestyle.”  
  
Maxwell perked up at that. Maybe they really did just want to dance. And they seemed okay. If people were really drinking their blood, they wouldn’t be okay, right? They’d be dead! And they were all dancing like they had all the energy in the world. This was fine. Everything would be fine until Drake could come save him. He kept repeating this to himself in a futile attempt to calm his nerves.  
  
“Let’s see what you’ve got, Maxie,” another impossibly pretty male model … ahem, houseboy, said to him. “I bet you can put Sergio to shame.”  
  
Sergio shot Pretty Boy a look. “I’ll have you know, Lance, that nobody can out-dance me. That’s why I’m Priya’s favorite.”  
  
Lance raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Okay, Serge. You and Maxie. Dance battle. What do you say?”  
  
“You’re on. Maxie? You game, or are you scared?”  
  
“Maxwell Beaumont has never walked away from a dance battle in his life, and he’s not about to start now. You’re on, Sergio.”  
  
The other men in the room cheered. Lance started the music, and Sergio and Maxwell started to dance. If anything could be said about Maxwell Beaumont, it was that he could dance for hours and never get tired. Sergio, though he’d once been a professional dancer, had grown softer in the past several years of serving as Priya’s houseboy. After an hour, he’d found himself getting winded, no longer able to pull off the more dazzling tricks that would usually allow him to win a dance battle.  He had to concede to Maxwell. Maxwell stood proud, reveling in his victory, when he heard a voice ring out.  
  
“I see you boys are getting acquainted.”  
  
Her. Priya. She still looks like a goddess, even without the booze and the club lights.  
  
She descended the stairs impossibly quickly, and was in front of him in what felt like seconds. She looked at him hungrily. “I like it when my playthings get along,” she whispered in his ear, her hot breath fanning him as she took his earlobe between her teeth, tugging gently. Maxwell shivered involuntarily, noticing a flash of something in her eyes. She moved away from him then, walking among the other men in a serpentine fashion, her hands trailing across their chests and shoulders, before turning back to him. She gave him a commanding look.  
  
“You. Come with me.”  
  
At that moment, it was as though an invisible magnet was pulling him toward her. There was no resistance at all on his end, as he found himself on autopilot, following her back up the stairs. He thought for a moment that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she wanted to keep him here forever. He shook his head at that. It had been a long afternoon. He wondered if Drake would be able to find him now that it was starting to get darker. He was also surprised to find that he suddenly wondered if he wanted Drake to find him.  
  
…  
  
Drake, Damien, and Mara were gathered in Drake’s suite at the hotel. There had been a lot of discussion of how to get to Maxwell without causing too much of a disturbance. It wouldn’t do to have the press get wind of a scandal involving Maxwell Beaumont and Priya LaCroix, and they definitely didn’t want to start an international incident. Nobody had heard from Maxwell since that last text to Drake. He’d tried to call once, but just got Maxwell’s voicemail.  
  
“Can we just try to call him one more time before you guys do anything dangerous or stupid?” Cavendish was sitting at the vanity chair, looking at them as though they hadn’t thought of something so simple. In truth, Drake hadn’t thought of something so simple. His first instinct had been to call Nazario, because he literally tracked people down for a living.  
  
Sheepishly, Drake nodded in agreement and picked up his phone to call Maxwell. It rang twice before he heard a voice on the other line.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
Drake was taken aback for a moment. The voice was not Maxwell’s. He heard loud music thumping in the background. Is he at a nightclub? What is going on?  
  
“I’m trying to reach Maxwell Beaumont. Do you know where he is?”  
  
“Oh, Maxie’s a bit…er…occupied right now, sweetie. He may be a while. Don’t wait up.”  
  
Click.  
  
For a moment, Drake just stared at the phone in disbelief. What the actual hell is going on? Where is he? Who was that? What does he mean by occupied?  
  
None of what was happening made any sense to him.  
  
“Drake? What happened?” He looked at Mara, acknowledging that she’d asked him a question, but he wasn’t sure how to answer. He furrowed his brow and frowned, opening and closing his mouth several times before he was able to formulate his thoughts.  
  
“I’m not sure. Some guy answered his phone and said that he’s occupied and that we shouldn’t wait up.”  
  
Cavendish looked at him knowingly. “Drake, I don’t think Maxwell is being held hostage.”  
  
A look of revulsion crossed over his face as he looked back at her, then over to Mara and Damien. He cleared his throat, “ahem, maybe I was a bit hasty in gathering a rescue party?”  
  
Mara never gave away what she was thinking, her face a carefully trained mask of neutrality. She simply nodded and left the room. Damien, however, still looked suspicious.  
  
“What are you thinking, Nazario?”  
  
“Not to be all doom and gloom here, Walker, but there have been some … rumors … of pple going missing after LaCroix parties. Mostlly young, attractive people. I’m not saying it’s true, and we can’t go on rumors alone, but…” he trailed off, his brows knitted together in concentration. “Look, I’m just saying the threat might not be immediate, but it’s still a possibility.”  
  
“What does that mean, Damien?” Cavendish asked him.  
  
He grinned after a moment, turning his full attention to Drake. “Want to go on a stakeout, Walker?”  
  
Drake grinned. Do I want to play detective? Drake Walker, P.I.? No question, Sam Spade. “I’m in.”  
  
…  
  
Maxwell was having a hard time forming coherent thoughts, occasionally slipping in and out of consciousness. He probably shouldn’t have left that club with this woman. He’d had no idea what he was getting himself into. But right now? With her otherworldly beauty assaulting his senses? He didn’t care. All he could think about was pleasing this goddess.  
  
He was on his knees in front of her, having been driven there by the sole of her very high-heeled shoe. His lips had been trailing along her inner thighs, making eye contact with her as he took his time making his way to her center. As he worked his way closer, his fingertips teased her entrance. Her breathing quickened almost imperceptibly, but her eyes flashed again, so quickly he almost missed it.

Finally, he made contact, focusing on her sensitive clit as he plunged a finger inside her, listening as she gasped at the contact. His tongue swirled, his mouth sucking at her, devouring her. He was drunk on her intoxicating scent and taste. He added a second finger, beginning to pump harder, all the while keeping his eyes locked on hers. He swore he’d never tasted anything so good in his life, and he felt himself harden at her scent, her taste, and at the noises she was making above him.  
  
He could feel her legs begin to shake, her hips bucking, this gorgeous woman losing herself in ecstasy almost brought him over the edge before they’d even had a chance to begin.  
  
She looked back down at him, her lips curling in a lascivious smile. “You’ve been very, very good. Now I’m going to reward you.”  
  
Maxwell felt his breath hitch as his heart started pounding. He remembered back to the club, how good she’d made him feel with just her lips on his neck. He was quick to remove the rest of his clothing, closing the distance between the two of them, his lips crashing to hers as he pulled her hips closer, grinding into her. He needed her in this moment, the heat building to the point he thought it might consume him.

He gripped her ass, squeezing and pulling her impossibly closer. He walks them back to her obscenely large bed, aching to be inside her, his need for her the only thing that he can think about. She pushed him back onto it, straddling him as he fell backwards. Bucking her hips against him, teasing him, she leaned forward to whisper, “is this what you were waiting for, boy? Do you want me?”  
  
He hissed out an affirmative answer, words lost to him now. She positioned him at her entrance, slowly sliding down over him. He was overcome with the feeling of her around him, warm, wet, tightening around him as she twisted her hips. He bucked up to meet her, matching her rhythm, as she slowly brought her lips back to his neck, trailing hot kisses, sucking, and again, the scrape of her teeth…  
  
Her teeth. Sergio had said something about feeding, about drinking blood. Was she…a vampire? Maxwell pushed the thought out of his mind. The way she was making him feel, she could have been Nosfer-fucking-atu in the flesh and he didn’t think he’d care. Besides, vampires weren’t real.  
  
He was close, so close now. He could feel her beginning to tremble on top of him, then wildly bucking as she succumbed to another orgasm. At that moment he felt her teeth again, slightly more pressure than before and this time slightly piercing his skin. Once again, he felt his blood pumping in his veins, coursing hot through his body. The sensation drew him over the edge, his vision blurred as he lost complete control, his orgasm rocking his body like nothing he’d ever felt before.  
  
As he collapsed backwards, he looked over at Priya, who’d rolled off him, nestled to his side. He could swear he’d seen fangs as she grinned at him. He squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself again there was no such thing as vampires. When he opened them again, her grin had returned to normal.  
  
“That was fun. You can go back to the others now.”  
  
“But,” he started to protest, but she glared at him, letting him know it was not a request. “Okay.”  
  
He gathered his discarded clothes, dressing and rejoining Lance, Sergio, and the others in the dance studio.  
…  
Damien thought back to when he’d first met Drake. At first, he’d been gruff, brushing off Damien’s offers to talk about what was bothering him. But there was something wounded about him that drew Damien to him…it was something Damien recognized in himself. He’d had no idea how that night would change the course of their lives. They’d become quick friends that night, surprising them both. Since then, that friendship had blossomed into something more…they were family now. Without Drake’s help, they might never have beat Eros, he could have lost Minah, they all could have died.  
  
They’d stayed in touch since their time together in Cordonia, exchanging text messages, calling when there was big news to share. Hell, Damien had even helped out with Drake’s wedding. For as much as they both liked to give each other hell, there was an unspoken bond that drew them together. Drake had become his brother.  
  
“So is this the real New York?” Drake’s voice cut through the quiet that had settled between the two.  
  
“What do you mean by real New York? Do you think we’ve been building movie sets for you?”  
  
“You know. The stuff that the tourists don’t come here to see. The dirty streets, the people sleeping in doorways and literal gutters… the stuff you don’t see in the movies.”  
  
Damien began to understand what his friend was saying. Drake had never seen New York like this before. He’d only been here as a tourist, or as part of a royal entourage. What did he think Cavendish’s life had been like before she’d gone to Cordonia? Something out of Breakfast at Tiffany’s?

_This_  New York,  _his_  New York, was all new to Drake. He wasn’t used to drunks pissing on the sidewalk, or watching the steam rise from the sewer grates. He wasn’t aware of the bums who’d settled for any semblance of comfort they could get; their lots in life to smile Chesire grins at the passersby who might deign to throw them some change to use for their next fix of food, or booze, or their high of choice. He didn’t see the whores on 42nd Street hike up their skirts in back alleys, their faces painted in caricatures of humanity as their eyes full of hate and desperation stared out at the crowds, looking for their next mark.  
  
“Yeah, Walker, this is the real New York.”  
  
He watched Drake continue to look around in wide-eyed amazement. He wondered what it was like to take this in for the man who’d grown up around European nobility. It must be a culture shock.  
  
“Hey look,” Drake nodded toward a car that had pulled up outside Priya’s building. Damien took note of the car’s occupants, two young women joined by none other than Adrian Raines of Raines Corp. What the hell does Adrian Raines have to do with Priya LaCroix?  
  
He watched them approach the door and ring the bell. It was answered by a muscular young blonde wearing a fur vest. “Food delivery?” he asked them coolly, as an army of tiny dogs ran around his feet barking. He attempted to scold them, but they ignored him and continued their yapping.  
  
“We’re here to see Priya. I’m Adrian Raines. She’s expecting me.”  
  
“I see. Call me Sergio, then. Please, come in!” He looked appraisingly at the blonde woman, complimenting her “look” and flashing her a charming smile before ushering everyone inside.  
  
Drake turned to Damien. “So what’s the plan now? This is an unexpected interruption, right?”  
  
Damien thought for a few minutes before answering, weighing their options. Suddenly, he had a flash of insight. His eyes widened as he looked at Drake and smiled. “Walker, I think they just helped us get in that building.”  
  
“What? How?”  
  
“We’re going to be the food delivery.”  
…  
Maxwell, still pondering the idea that Priya could be a vampire, made his way back downstairs. He had rejoined Lance and Sergio in the dance studio, where they were standing around talking.  
  
“Oh, Maxie, by the way, darling,” Sergio sauntered over to him, Maxwell’s phone in his hand, “you got a call while you were playing with Priya.”  
  
Surprised that he’d let his phone out of his possession, Maxwell tried to take it from Sergio, who lifted it out of his reach.  “Tsk tsk, Maxie,” he teased, wiggling the phone in his hand. “What’s my reward?”  
  
Maxwell looked to Lance for help, thinking he’d be able to get his phone back easier if he had the other man’s help. Lance just shrugged, obviously amused by the direction this was taking.  
  
“Et tu, Lance?” Maxwell feigned a hurt expression. He turned back to Sergio. “Okay, pretty boy. What do you want?”  
  
Sergio grinned. “Hmmm. Let’s see, let’s see,” he said, tapping his chin. “What can I get Maxie to do for me?” His eyes gleamed. “Ooh, I know. Dearest Max, I want you to—“  
  
He was interrupted by the doorbell. He sighed, handing Maxwell his phone. “Excuse me, darling, I must go answer this.”  
  
Maxwell heard voices out in the hall, and took that moment to check his call history. It was Drake who’d called. He knew he couldn’t call him in front of Lance, not with what he needed to say. He sent a quick text as he saw Sergio walk past with three other people.  
  
“Drake, I think I came home with a vampire. I swear I’m not making this up.”  
  
“Maxwell, are you drunk right now? Has anyone hurt you?” came Drake’s reply.  
  
“No, I swear I’m not drunk. And nobody has hurt me. They’ve actually been pretty nice.”  
  
“You said you were in trouble!”  
  
“I’m a vampire’s houseboy, Drake. I think that counts as trouble!”  
  
Maxwell heard a commotion coming from the living room. He peaked his head out and saw Priya holding Sergio in the air by his throat before throwing him, hard, onto the couch. He let out a small gasp, prompting Priya to look up at him, any warmth he’d ever seen in her eyes gone, replaced again by that flash of red he’d sworn he’d seen before.  
  
He ducked back into the dance studio and texted Drake again.  
  
“Drake, I’m serious. Get me out of here, please.”  
  
“Working on it. Hold tight, buddy.”  
…  
Drake rang the doorbell of the unassuming door. The building looked rundown. He wondered what a rich lady like this Priya LaCroix was doing living in a crummy looking place like this.  
  
Once again, the young man with the fur vest opened the door to greet them. He looked at Drake and Damien, appraising them. He cocked an eyebrow at Drake. “Food delivery?”  
  
Damien just smiled at him and said, “Yes. We’re here for the delivery.”  
  
Drake lifted the bags in his hands. He and Nazario had stopped in a corner store and purchased a bunch of candy to get the paper bags in the hopes it would get them through the door. It somehow worked.  
  
Once inside, Drake and Damien followed the young man into a living room. Drake noted that the interior of the building was nothing like the exterior. Ornate, extravagant, ostentatious. It almost felt like being back at the palace. He looked around, trying to find some sign of Maxwell.  
  
“I’m Sergio, by the way. Who ordered food?”  
  
“Oh. Uhhh…” Drake hesitated.  
  
“Maxwell Beaumont,” Damien answered. “He had a very specific order.”  
  
Sergio’s eyes narrowed. “Really,” he said, “and what exactly did Maxie order?”  
  
Maxie? Drake didn’t have long to dwell on that, as Maxwell popped his head out of another room at that moment.  
  
“Drake? Damien? OH MY GOD Drake you came to rescue me!” With that, Maxwell ran up and threw himself at Drake.  
  
“Oof.” Drake was knocked back a bit at the impact. “Maxwell, what the hell is going on? Why are you dressed like that?”  
  
“Drake, you have to get me out of here, please! Priya’s a vampire and she wants to feed me to her friends! Ask Sergio, he’ll tell you.”  
  
Sergio raised an eyebrow. Damien turned to him, asking, “Sergio, what is Maxwell talking about? Why are you keeping him here?”  
  
Sergio smiled and said, “I have no idea what Maxie’s talking about, gentlemen. He’s not here against his will. He came here on his own accord and is welcome to leave whenever he wants.”  
  
“And the vampire talk?”  
  
“Well, Maxie might still be coming down from the poppers. We have been partying pretty hard,” he smirked. He put an arm around Maxwell and kissed his cheek. “Isn’t that right, Maxie?”  
  
“Uh…what? No!”  
  
“Okay Maxwell,” Drake said, “Let’s get you home.”  
  
He shook his head as Maxwell’s antics. He was too innocent and trusting, and kept getting himself into trouble by ending up in situations he couldn’t handle. Fortunately, it looked like this group of people wasn’t dangerous. It could have been much worse.  
  
And all this rambling about vampires. Better not let Bertrand know about the drugs.  
  
As they walked away, leading Maxwell away from the building, Drake thought he felt someone staring at him. He looked back, and thought he spotted a figure in a second-story window. For a brief moment, he would have sworn he’d seen a pair of glowing red eyes.  
  
 _I need to get the hell out of New York_ , he thought.  _It’s messing with my head._


	3. A Pair of Brown Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell has been rescued, but for how long?

“Maxwell, you know there’s no such thing as vampires.”

“Drake, I was  _not_  on drugs. I’m telling you, she was a  _vampire_. I saw her pick Sergio up by his  _face_.”

Drake rolled his eyes and walked away, joining Damien in the kitchen for another drink. Nadia was sitting in the corner scowling at Maxwell, only half-listening to what Cavendish was saying to her. Minah was the only one enthralled with Maxwell’s story.

“So, is it true they don’t have reflections?”

“Don’t encourage him, Minah!” shouted Drake from the other room.

“Just ignore him, Max. Tell me everything.”

They were gathered in Minah’s apartment after Maxwell’s harrowing experience as Priya LaCroix’s houseboy. The problem was that because Sergio lied, Drake and Damien didn’t believe anything he was saying. And for some reason, Nadia was angry. He wasn’t sure how any of this could get worse, but at least he was safe now, and at least Minah believed him.

“She definitely had a reflection. And her eyes glowed!”

Nadia stood and huffed.

“I feel like going out. Does anyone else feel like going out? I think I need a drink.”

“Nadia, we have drinks here,” said Minah.

“I. Want. To. Go.  _Out_.”

Maxwell wasn’t sure what happened while he was gone, but it must have been something big. Maybe she was having man troubles. He remembered when they’d been in Cordonia a few months back that she was crying a lot over some guy named Steve.

An uncomfortable silence had fallen over the group. Maxwell hated it when people were upset, so his default was always to try to fix it as quickly as possible. When he was a kid, his father was always really hard on Bertrand, so much so that he’d actually made Bertrand cry sometimes. Bertrand tried to keep his feelings private, but Maxwell would hear him late at night through the wall that connected their bedrooms. Since he knew their mom would step in and intervene on his behalf, he often acted out to deflect Barthelemy Beaumont’s attention away from his eldest son, and it worked. Bertrand may not have realized or even appreciated it, but it made Maxwell feel good to do that for his brother. He ended up doing what he could to make others happy over the years, too.

Maxwell stood quickly. “Let’s paint this town!” he exclaimed.

…

Drake heaved a heavy sigh for the tenth time since they’d arrived at Kismet. Damien knew this was Drake code for “kill me now” so he decided to find out what was bothering him.

“Not your scene, huh?” He gave his friend a nudge with his elbow.

“Heh. Not even close, Nazario.”

“Sorry, man. Nadia needed to blow off some steam. She’s been on edge since we left Cordonia, and I’m pretty sure our little vampire hunter there has something to do with it.”

He nodded toward Maxwell, who was currently dancing with Nadia. He knew she’d had a crush on Maxwell during the Unity Tour, but they were on the run from Eros and Cordonia was in a state of chaos after they’d been rescued from Moscow. Damien shook his head. If he and Drake hadn’t already been friends before that tour, they damn sure were after. Who knows what would have happened to them if Drake hadn’t arranged their rescue from Eros?

“Leave it to Maxwell to come to New York and end up getting into some insane situation almost immediately.” He sighed again. “I just wanted a nice relaxing vacation before having to go back to all the courtly expectations and parties.”

“What’s it like living in your own castle?”

“It’s not a castle, funny man.

“Excuse me, your own ‘ _giant house’_  then.”

“I’m building us a cabin out in the woods so we can get away from the ‘ _giant house’_  every now and then.”

“Great, so when we visit we’ll have our own cabin?”

“Oh no, Nazario. If I have to live in that monstrosity, you have to stay there too.”

They laughed. Damien looked around again, spotting the two Minahs deep in conversation and surrounded by shot glasses. Nadia and Maxwell were somehow still dancing. Nadia actually looked happy for the first time all day.

“ _HEY_! Hey Sherlock!!” Minah came running over to him with Cavendish in tow. “I was telling my best friend here about your secret superpowers.”

Drake raised an eyebrow at him and mouthed, “Superpowers?”

Damien just chuckled. Drunken Minah was hilarious and seemed to think he had magical abilities. “I don’t have any superpowers, sweetheart.”

She draped herself around his neck and touched her finger to the tip of his nose. “You  _dooo_ , though! Minah, he can tell you  _anything_  about  _anyone_  just by looking at them. He’s like real life Sherlock Holmes.”

The Duchess giggled uncontrollably, her cheeks and nose flush with alcohol. “Minah…Minah…maybe he can tell us how to get Drake to stop scowling.” She dissolved into another fit of laughter, doubling over until there were tears coming out of the corners of her eyes.

It was definitely time to get these two home. Damien met Drakes eyes, his brows raised in question. Drake nodded, pulling Cavendish close to him. “Alright, Mrs. Walker, I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight. Why don’t we get you back to the room?”

She turned to him, trying to look serious. “As you wish, Duke Marshmallow,” she said as she bowed to him with a flourish. The action put her off balance and she began to tip to the side, Drake catching her before she fell.

At that, she and Minah started laughing again.

“I’ll send a text to Max and Nadia,” Damien said to Drake. “Let’s get the girls home.”

…

When Nadia finally pulled Maxwell off the dancefloor, her face was lit back up in a broad smile. He was glad to have helped lift her mood. He’d grown close to her while she was in Cordonia, and considered her a friend. In truth, he’d had a crush on her then, but she was so broken up over whatever had happened in Moscow that he didn’t dare think he had a chance.

“Have you seen the others?” he asked her.

She shook her head, looking around to see if she should find them in the crowd. He pulled out his phone to see if he could text Drake when he noticed he had a message. It was from Damien.

_“Drake and I are leaving with the girls. Can you get Nadia home safe?”_

He fired off a response saying he would, and then let Nadia know what happened.

“Are you ready to go now, or did you want to hang out for a while?”

She looked up at him, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she considered her options. She hesitated for a moment before her grin returned.

“What do you say to a few more drinks, Max?”

Maxwell grinned back at her. “You’re on.”

“Drinking game?”

“What do you have in mind?”

He saw a devilish gleam in her doe eyes, and he swallowed. What had he gotten himself into?

“Never Have I Ever.”

Oh, boy. He hoped he wasn’t going to regret this.

“Let’s do it. Who starts?”

“I’ll start. Never have I ever become a houseboy by accident.”

“Ouch. Nadia. That hurt.”

“Shut up and drink, Max.”

“Fine. Never have I ever been a painter.”

She scowled at him. “That’s cheating.”

“Is not. Drink up.”

“Fine,” she said, taking a shot. “Never have I ever been a Cordonian Lord.”

“Now who’s cheating?” He took a drink. “Never have I ever had a cousin named Minah.”

She glared as she drank. “Never have I ever gotten a tattoo.”

“This one is for the game,” he said after drinking his shot. “Never have I ever played an instrument.”

“Ha!” she said, swaying slightly on her feet, “You lose, Beaumont. I play  _nothing_.”

He chuckled. “Okay, Nadia, let’s get out of here.”

In truth, he was feeling the effects of the alcohol himself. He grabbed her hand.  _To keep her steady_ , he told himself, leading her out of the bar.

“Should we take a taxi?” he asked.

“No, my place is walking distance.”

“But it’s cold!”

“Just deal with it, you big baby.”

She led the way to her apartment building, greeting the doorman by name and giving him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek before leading him in a brief waltz. The man had to be 200 years old and Maxwell was sure his face was fixed in a permanent grimace, but as he interacted with Nadia, his face broke into a huge grin and a hundred years seemed to melt off him.  Maxwell couldn’t help but be impressed by her ability to be so silly and yet to make someone feel so important.

She broke away from the doorman, grabbing Maxwell by the arm and leading him inside, blowing a kiss to the man by the door as she called out goodnight. She pulled him into the elevator with her. It was surprisingly empty. They made their way to her floor – 11 – and Maxwell became very aware of their proximity and the fact that they were the only two in the confined space. He could smell her perfume, bergamot and vanilla. He felt the heat of her body, her touch where she was still holding his arm.

His head was buzzing with alcohol and his memories of her in Lythikos, the late night walks they took there, games of truth or dare in Portavira, and her art interpretations coupled with their shared love of sweets in Castelsarreillan. He’d decided when she left to go back to New York that he should let go of that crush. But here, now…the way she’d danced with him tonight, the way she’d smiled at him, he wondered if he had a chance with her.

When the elevator doors opened, she pulled him out with her, leading him to her apartment door. When they reached it, she leaned against it and turned to face him. He was close to her, and when she turned around he realized how close their bodies were. He placed his hand on the door, leaning into her. He heard her breath catch, but she leaned into him as well. He captured her lips with his, tentatively at first, but when she pressed herself against him he tossed out any inhibitions. He kissed her hungrily, pulling her closer to him by her waist. Her arms came around his neck and he felt her press herself impossibly closer until she was flush against him.

He lost all sense of time. His senses were swirling with her; the feelings of her lips on his, the taste of her, her hand resting on his cheek. She pulled away, looking up at him with those big brown eyes and asking in a whispered tone, “Do you want to come in?”

Maxwell warred with himself internally. He  _really_  wanted to take her up on her offer, but he also knew she’d been drinking. He wanted to be sure that if she wanted him, it was  _her_  and not the alcohol talking. Besides, he liked Nadia. She was a nice girl, and he’d never managed to hold on to a relationship before. Instead, his romantic life consisted of a series of one-night stands. Those that he’d managed to hold onto longer than that quickly got tired of his antics and left. He’d made a good friend in Nadia and didn’t want to screw it up by moving too fast. Especially if she wasn’t into him.

He heaved a resigned sigh and hung his head before looking back at her.

“I’d love to, Nadia, but I don’t think it’s a good idea right now.”

The hurt in her eyes was enough to make him consider changing his mind. He brought his hand up to her face, tilting her chin so she was facing him. He pressed another chaste kiss to her lips before explaining himself.

“We’ve both been drinking. I don’t want to do something you’ll regret tomorrow.”

She gave him a small smile, nodding her head before saying goodnight. He waited until she was inside and he heard her door lock before going back to the elevator and calling a car to get back to his hotel.

Once back in his room, he was starting to get changed when he heard a knock at this door. He quickly slipped his shirt back on without buttoning it. He opened the door, surprised by the person – no,  _people_  – he saw there.

“Lance? Sergio?”

“ _Hey_ , Maxxie,” Sergio said, his piercing eyes roving up and down Maxwell’s chest. “Did you  _miss_  me?”

Lance grinned at him. “We have an invitation for you, mon lapin.”

Maxwell was genuinely curious, but also wary of these two. Especially after Sergio had lied to Drake and Damien.

“To what?”

“A fashion show, Maxie. You’ve  _obviously_ got good taste. Your clothes are  _all_ designer.” Sergio tugged the edge of his shirt, pulling it open slightly wider. “I  _really_  want to steal that Gucci from you sometime.”

Like he was going to let Sergio wear his Gucci. Still, his interest was piqued.

“When? Where?”

“Right now, darling. Just button up and come with us. We’re going to The Crimson Veil.”

Before Maxwell could talk himself out of it, he was following Lance and Sergio out the door where their car was waiting. When they arrived at their destination, the two men led him to the front door, forgoing the impossibly long line behind the red velvet ropes.

“Guys, isn’t that the line back there?”

Lance laughed. “Oh, honey, no.  _We_  do not wait in  _line._ ”

They led him directly to the bouncer, a large, rather frightening man with a clipboard who just looked at the group of men and nodded, stepping aside to let them in. Maxwell was surprised to be greeted with what appeared to be a nightclub – all neon and thumping bass, yet with a catwalk set up in the middle of the room, shirtless waiters strutting around. Models strutted on the catwalk, the aesthetic highly sculptural, gravity-defying clothes that seemed more art than outfit.

It wasn’t until that moment he finally made the connection. Unsure why he didn’t put two-and-two together before, his mind drifted back to his squid suit and Minah’s phoenix dress at the Masquerade Ball. Of course. Priya LaCroix, the hot designer who’d custom-made those outfits for him on special order was the same Priya he’d gone home with his first night in New York. And this was her club.

Lance had already disappeared into the crowd. Maxwell turned to Sergio and shouted to him over the music, “Where is she?”

Sergio smirked. Maxwell knew that was the real reason for the invitation. He would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t looking forward to seeing her again. Sergio leaned closer, so close Maxwell to could feel his hot breath on his cheek. He felt Sergio’s large palm pressed against his chest, heard the rich timbre of his voice as he said, “Turn around, Romeo.”

A shiver ran up Maxwell’s spine, but he did as he was told. It was then he saw her, standing beside a red door. Every single person in this place tonight had been blessed with ethereal beauty, those exquisite good looks that come to those blessed with good genes or money. But she…she was so much more.

She was resplendent; bewitching despite her rather aloof demeanor. In a crowd of beautiful people, there was still something about her that attracted him, pulled him in. She radiated sex and sin, from her perfectly coiffed hair to the pointed tips of her  _very_  expensive,  _very_  high heels.

They made eye contact. She looked at him hungrily, a pair of deep brown eyes locking onto his across the room; he swore in that moment he didn’t know if he’d found heaven or hell in those eyes. His own flitted down to her lips, parted as she bared her teeth in a predatory smile. The night had taken a rather interesting turn. He approached her, never breaking eye contact. She reached out to stroke his neck, her smile growing wider, her eyes glowing.

“Hello, my pet.”


	4. A Rainy Night in Soho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell can't resist Priya's charms, but Priya might be getting tired of his. Nadia takes a big chance, using glitter to get her point across.

Maxwell was sitting in a corner booth with Priya, an arm slung around her. His finger trailed up and down her side, lightly tracing the side of her breast. Her hand was on his thigh, her long fingernails scraping along his inner thigh, lightly brushing his increasingly prominent bulge as she did so. He thought briefly of Nadia with a sudden flash of guilt. She’d looked so sad when he left her earlier. She seemed like she really wanted him, and good gods he’d wanted her, too. But he knew that her judgment was clouded and didn’t want to take advantage of that.

Priya must have realized his thoughts had wandered, because she was raking her nails slightly harder up his thigh, stopping to palm him through his pants. He was suddenly unable to think of anyone or anything except this creature next to him. She nuzzled her nose into his neck, inhaling deeply. The feeling of her on his skin lit his nerves on fire, sending heat to the blood coursing through his veins.

He raised his hand to entwine it within her hair. He was becoming so overwhelmed by her; he didn’t know  _what_  it was about her but he couldn’t resist her. He tugged hard on her hair, pulling her head back to crash his lips against hers. He felt a wave of possessiveness coursing through him, a deep-seated desire to make her  _his._ He stood, grabbing her wrist to pull her with him.

“What are you doing, boy?”

“Come with me. We’re going somewhere private.”

A light laugh escaped her ruby lips, but she willingly complied. He led her to a side door, pulling her outside into an alleyway. It was dark and raining, streetlights reflecting off the wet pavement. He quickly glanced side to side, ensuring they were alone, before pushing her against the wall, feverishly kissing her as his hands roamed her body. He traced her cheek, her jawline, down to her throat, his lips lightly following his fingers. He ripped open the sheer blouse she wore over a black satin corset that served to enhance her already impossibly perfect figure. Her skin felt like silk and tasted like sin and he was ready to be burned by the flames.

“Fuck, Priya, you…”

“Don’t ruin it by talking,” she gasped as his hand roamed up her thigh, plunging under her skirt to find its way to the slick wetness gathered at her core. The rain continued to beat down on them, droplets of water falling from their hair, gathering on their lashes, dripping down their skin. Maxwell licked a rivulet of water that had glided down her breasts, gently sucking at the flesh as he went, his fingers continuing their ministrations.

He fell to his knees, lifting her skirt before hooking her knee over his shoulder. One hand remained on her breasts, massaging them through the satin of her corset as he flattened his tongue, dragging it along her folds. She arched into him, her hips shooting off the wall and pushing closer to him. He smiled at the effect he was having on her, moving to give her clit his full attention, encircling it with his lips and sucking gently. Her reactions told him what she liked; her gasps and moans like music to his ears. He teased her entrance with his middle finger, circling and dipping the tip in before pulling back out. Her hips bucked as she whimpered, eager for more contact.

“If you don’t stop teasing and start fucking, I’m going to drain you, my pet.”

He looked up at her words, seeing her eyes had gone red and her fangs had extended. He was startled, but less so than before.  He smirked.  _Wait until I see Drake and Damien again. Won’t they feel stupid when I tell them about this?_  He stood back up, making quick work of unfastening his pants. Impatient, she pulled them down along with his Spiderman boxers, freeing his cock from its restraint. He felt her silky fingers close around it, pumping him a few times and leaving him to feel like he might explode at any given moment.

With a low growl, he lifted her by her thighs, which she wrapped around his waist, as he pinned her back against the wall. She licked the length of his neck, drawing out a moan from his lips. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He lined himself up with her dripping entrance, plunging himself inside her to the hilt. He stilled for a moment, overwhelmed by the feel of her wet heat surrounding him. wanting to last long enough for her to come.

Lowering his lips to her throat, he sucked lightly as he began to move. He set a rapid, punishing pace, rocking his hips in rhythm to the thumping bass from inside the club, thundering so loudly the wall itself was vibrating. Her cries laced with curses, her whimpers, her moans all echoed in his ears, reverberating in the empty alley, adding a melody line to the staccato sounds of the rain and the pounding bass, their voracious appetite for each other’s bodies giving birth to their own sensual music.

The rain picked up, the drops falling harder as he took her against a wall in the alley behind her own club. Rats skittered around them, passersby could probably see them and could certainly hear them, and yet none of that mattered as her walls began to flutter around him and she sank her teeth into his neck, his blood rushing through his body, sending heat through his veins and setting fire to his skin. He fucked her harder, his breath releasing in pants that left small clouds of fog in the chilly, damp air. Her teeth were still in his neck when he came undone, still in his neck when he let go of her thighs, still in his neck when he’d passed out on the ground in that damp, deserted alley in the rain.

…

“I don’t give a damn  _where_  he is or  _who_  he’s doing. That vampire bitch can eat his damn brains for all I care!”

“That’s zombies, Nadia. Vampires suck blood,” Minah said, trying to calm her cousin.

“Apparently that’s not all they suck,” Drake whispered to Damien, earning him an elbow from Cavendish and a laugh from Damien.

Nadia glared at both of them. “That’s it. Gallery time. Minah, other Minah, you’re with me. These two,” she said, poison lacing her words, “can go suck each other’s –”

Minah had clapped a hand over Nadia’s mouth before she could continue.

“I think what Nadia is  _trying_  to say is that we’re going to go have some girl time. Why don’t you boys go have some fun? Preferably somewhere other than a bar.”

She smiled sweetly at Damien, and he nodded back at her with a grin. He was definitely getting punished later. Nadia had no patience for their antics now, not when Maxwell had betrayed her by kissing her and then disappearing again. She knew he was with that woman. She didn’t care. She was done.  _Done!_

“We’re going to Eden. Maxwell can go to hell.” She huffed and flounced out of the room. Minah and Cavendish followed behind, trying to catch her. She heard Cavendish asking Minah what Eden was.

Nadia stepped out into the street, breathing in the damp air. The pavement was still wet from the heavy rains the night before, leaving a deep humidity in the air that was causing her hair to curl and left her with the feeling that she couldn’t take a deep breath due to the heaviness of the air that constricted her chest.

The passing traffic and the pedestrians making their way to the subways, hailing cabs, going to and from lunch dates, classes, everywhere and nowhere, combined together to create a cacophonous noise that lulled her. So many people found the city too loud, too dirty, too cold. She lived for the kinetic energy of this city. New York was the beating of her heart, the very blood thrumming in her veins. The city, like her own mind and heart, was chaotic but it was also  _alive_.

She resolved to forget her troubles. No more thinking about Maxwell Beaumont. She was Nadia fucking Park. She didn’t  _need_  him. She didn’t need anyone! She marched along the street, not caring whether the Minahs were following her. There was a Todd Gray exhibit at Eden and she was going to go and look at pop art, and it was going to make her feel better, damn it!

“Nadia, wait!”

She slowed her steps but didn’t stop walking.

“Nadia,” Minah’s voice was almost drowned in the noise of sirens and honking horns. She heard their footsteps pounding on the pavement, both women running to catch up with her. “Are you okay?”

Of course she was okay. Why wouldn’t she be okay? There was no reason for her not to be. Just because she got rejected by the man she was sure was going to be her husband someday, that was no reason for her not to be okay, right?

“NO! I’m  _not_ okay!” she shouted, breaking down in tears.

Minah wrapped her arms around her, giving her a pep talk.

“You’re Nadia Park, the famous artist! You’ve fought robots and won! You went up against Eros and survived. You, Nadia, are a badass and if Maxwell can’t see that, then he doesn’t deserve you. No offense, Cavendish.”

“None taken!”

Nadia squealed and hugged her cousin tighter. “I really  _am_  a badass, aren’t I?”

“You are! And what does a badass Park woman do when she knows what she wants?”

“She breaks out the art supplies, damn it!”

“There’s my Nadia!” cried Minah.

…

Maxwell awoke in the late afternoon, curling into the warmth of the body stretched out next to him. He kept his eyes closed, reaching his hand across to feel the taut, lithe muscles before realizing that something didn’t feel right. He cracked his eyes open, the light assaulting them and leaving his vision bleary. As his eyes adjusted, he was able to focus on the smiling face inches from his own.

“Well, well, well. Good morning, Maxxie,” a grinning Sergio greeted him, his blue eyes twinkling. “Or should I say, good afternoon.  _So_  nice to see you, love.”

Maxwell blinked owlishly, unsure of what was going on. The last thing he remembered was the alley. Why was he in bed with Sergio? And why did Sergio  _never_  wear a shirt?

“Sergio?” he asked, his cheeks flushing warmly. “What are you…Did we…?”

Sergio laughed, a finger running down Maxwell’s nose, lingering on his lips, before drawing down further to his throat and chest. Maxwell held his breath, unsure of how far Sergio was going to take this.  _Or how far he’d already taken it._

“Oh, Maxxie. I’m  _hurt_. Are you really telling me you don’t remember  _anything?_ ” he asked, cocking an eyebrow. “I’ve been told I’m …  _unforgettable._ Isn’t that right, Lance?”

An arm snaked around him from behind as the other man rested his chin on Maxwell’s shoulder.

“It’s true, mon lapin. I speak from personal experience,” he said, lightly biting Maxwell.

“I’m sorry, I don’t…I … I don’t even remember how I got here.”

Sergio and Lance shared a laugh.

“Don’t worry, darling. Nothing happened.  _Yet_.  _Believe_  me when I tell you that  _when_  it happens, you will  _never_  forget it.”

“Uh, okay. So then why are you two in bed with me? And not wearing shirts? And Sergio doesn’t have any pants on!”

“Neither do you, mon lapin,” Lance pointed out.

Well. He couldn’t argue with that. In fact, he was wearing nothing but his Spiderman boxers. He had no idea where his clothes might be. He was so confused.

“Will one of you please tell me what’s happening right now? I don’t understand what’s happening right now. Where’s Priya? How did I get here?”

Sergio’s lips curled into a smile as Lance’s grip tightened around him.

“I wanted to see you again, darling.”

“What Sergio is  _trying_ to say, mon lapin, is that he wants a rematch.”

“A…a rematch?”

“Dance battle, love. You wounded his ego last time you were here.”

“Ohhhh. Right. Got it.”

“We’re to send you up to Priya later this evening, Maxxie. Until then, we should all have some  _fun_. Don’t you think so, darling?”

“Uh, sure?”

“Good. Let’s find you some pants.”

Lance pushed himself up off the bed, making his way to the large wardrobe in the corner of the room. The bed, like last time, was so large it filled most of the room. Everything was draped in plush red velvet and deep, rich mahogany. There was a mirror attached to the ceiling above the bed, giving Maxwell a perfect view of himself still curled into Sergio’s side. He began to separate himself, clearing his throat., but Sergio’s hand curled around him, pulling him back in.

“Don’t leave yet, love. I’m enjoying this.”

Maxwell blushed. He was enjoying it, too, if for no other reason than it had been a long time since he’d been held by another person. And his constant innuendo and teasing aside, Sergio was definitely a world-class cuddler.   He hummed contentedly, snuggling back into Sergio’s warmth while Lance was searching for clothes for him to put on.

“So what’s the plan today, boys? I do need to get back to my friends at some point. Where are my wallet and phone, by the way?”

“Your things are on the nightstand, mon lapin,” Lance called over his shoulder.

“And the  _plan_ , my sweet, is to give you a little tour of the more  _fun_  parts of this place. Think of it as a  _warmup_ ,” Sergio added with a saucy wink. “Then we have our rematch. This time, I’ll be ready for you, love.”

“And what does the winner get? It’s always more fun when there are stakes.”

“ _Ssshhhh!_  Don’t say the  _‘S’_  word around here, Maxxie.”

Lance threw what he called “pants” at Maxwell, who inspected them carefully before attempting to put them on. They were a skintight leather-like material. How the hell was he supposed to get these things on? Especially over his boxers?

The men, noticing his confusion, shared a look before bursting into laughter.

“You’re going to have to lose those… _boxers_ ,” Sergio suggested with a shudder. “Which I think we can  _all_  agree is for the best. Those  _things_  are a  _hot mess_  and should be considered a crime against fashion.”

Maxwell felt his face flush again. “Hey! You leave Spiderman out of this!”

Sergio rolled his eyes. “Just get dressed.”

With a lot of complaining on his part and help and encouragement from Lance and Sergio, Maxwell’s leather-clad legs were strolling through the building, passing a full-length indoor swimming pool complete with muscular houseboys skinny dipping and lounging with drinks in their hands. Lance grabbed the belt loop of his pants, pulling him along when he’d stood gaping at the scene far too long. Continuing down the hall, they passed a gym, noticing several shirtless men grunting while lifting weights inside it.

“Just how big  _is_  this place?” he inquired, amazed at how all of this fit into a single building.

“This is an abandoned warehouse. There’s a lot more room inside than you’d think,” Lance answered him. “Kind of like Sergio.”

Maxwell burst into laughter. “Oh,  _snap._ ”

Sergio glared at Lance, then slowly broke into a smile. “Don’t blame the size of the opening for the plug being too small.”

Maxwell laughed even harder as Lance’s tan face turned bright red. Finally, they stopped inside one of the rooms. It was a seemingly empty movie theatre, but a film was playing. The sound was low, but Maxwell heard the moans before he saw what was playing. It was Priya with some man, and they seemed to be scratching, slapping, and biting at each other between heated kisses. Hair was pulled, blood was drawn. It was intense. And it was pretty damn hot.

“What is this?” he asked. “Some kind of home movie? A sex tape?”

“It’s something even better than that,” called a voice from the projector room. “This is an  _independent film_  from when Thomas Hunt was shooting at The Crimson Veil. The man apparently had cameras  _everywhere_.”

“We’re  _not_   _allowed_  to watch this,” Sergio hissed.

“It’s called  _On the Hunt_. I’m sure you can see why,” the man said, ignoring Sergio. “Personally, I like a man who isn’t afraid of a little body hair.”

He nodded at the screen. Lance let out a small scream, while Sergio gasped in horror.

“Oh my  _god,_ my  _eyes_! Make it stop! Has that man never heard of  _wax_?”

“Ugh, it’s like he covered himself in honey and rolled around on a dead animal! I  _cannot_  unsee that.”

Maxwell couldn’t stop laughing. Lance and Sergio were so horrified that the man on the screen had chest hair that they were threatening to pluck their own eyes out. Their reactions were hysterical to him.

“I  _cannot_  be here anymore to witness this…this…ugh. Let’s  _go_ , Maxxie.”

“But it’s just getting to the good part…”

“He  _said_  let’s go, mon lapin. We’re going.”

Lance grabbed one arm while Sergio grabbed the other. They marched him out of the theatre as Maxwell called out to the man behind him that he’d be back to watch the rest later.

As they were marching him down the hall to the dance studio, his thoughts wandered to Nadia. He wondered what she was doing right now, and whether she was thinking about him. He wished she was here. He was about to have another dance battle and she wasn’t even here to see how cool he looked.

They all began to stretch and warm up, preparing themselves for the battle. He nodded to Sergio to indicate he was ready, and Sergio nodded to Lance. The room filled with music as the other houseboys who’d been standing around talking began to line up around the edge of the room.

Sergio began with a series of high energy, gravity-defying moves. Maxwell decided to up the ante, beginning with a front flip, then a heel spin, finishing with a floor flip. Sergio moved to the beat for a few seconds before coming back at Maxwell with a series of pops and locks, before dropping to his knees, spinning, and then rising up as though being pulled by a string. He then landed a series of moves, gliding smoothly across the floor, spinning, and twirling, ending with a pose and a wink.

Maxwell was regretting having accepted these leathery pants. They were tight, they were hot, and they limited his range of motion. Those issues notwithstanding, he wasn’t going to let Sergio beat him. Maxwell Beaumont was a champion dancer. Nobody beat him in a dance battle, and he’d be damned if he was going to lose to pretty boy Sergio. He put on his best show, tutting, popping, locking, spinning and swirling around, landing a series of flying spin kicks, landing on his shoulder and spinning. He did a freeze with his legs bicycling in mid-air before lifting himself back up onto his hands and doing another freeze on one hand, crossing his legs in the air above him.

Everyone in the studio was whistling, howling, and clapping. Maxwell had certainly won this round. Even Sergio had to admit that he was no match for Maxwell’s dance moves. Though it was humiliating for him, he conceded for a second time that week. Maxwell continued moving to the beat in celebration.

“Aww, yeah. Break it down. Nice and slow.”

Sergio rolled his eyes. “Alright, Maxxie. Just tell me what you want.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were the one who wanted a bet. What humiliation do you have in store for me? Do I have to wear a silly costume? Or something…ugh… _off the rack_?” he shuddered at the thought.

Maxwell thought for a moment before the idea finally came to him, a smile spreading across his face.

“I’ve got it!” he cried gleefully. “Sergio, put some damn clothes on. We’re going out!”

…

Nadia had been quiet for the past hour. Too quiet for Minah’s liking. She was worried about what her cousin might be getting up to, though she knew that Nadia did have a tendency to stress paint. She and Cavendish were playing poker, and they hadn’t heard a peep from Nadia’s studio. She was losing this hand anyway. She put her cards down, folding, and let Cavendish know that she was going to check up on her cousin.

The Duchess smiled knowingly, asking her if she’d like her to come too. Minah though it might be a good idea to have backup in case they needed to console her. Nadia’s moods were frequently all over the place and she didn’t know if she was going to walk in to crying, smiling, or angry paint throwing. She nodded and led the way in through the studio door, opening it as slowly and quietly as possible.

She took a moment to look around the room, taking in the chaos that was Nadia’s workspace. It gave her anxiety just to look at it. The walls were covered in spatters of different colors of paint, there were sketches taped up randomly, with no thought to placement or whether they were straight or crooked. Canvases were piled and stacked everywhere, and paint tubes, buckets, and brushes were everywhere.

In the midst of all this chaos stood Nadia, hunched over her work table. The floor around the table was littered with large sheets of watercolor paper, posterboard, illustration board, and rolls of unstretched canvas. There was a large jug of gesso at her feet, the lid of it and everything surrounding it covered with glitter in various hues.

“Nadia? Sweetie? What are you working on?” she asked gently.

“I’m getting what I want, Minah.”

“What does that mean? How are you getting what you want? Oh! Are you making another vision board?”

“I’m making a sign.”

“Can I see?”

Nadia stood up straight, turning to her cousin. She was covered in glitter. It looked like a unicorn full of glitter bombs had exploded and she’d been at ground zero. There was a dab of red paint on her chin, and every movement caused her to sparkle like she was covered in diamonds.  She grinned at the pair and proudly held up the ridiculously large poster she’d created.

“Oh. My. God.”

“Well, what do you think?” she asked.

“Nadia! He’s going to love it!!” Cavendish squealed.

_Oh no. I’ve created a monster._

…

Maxwell was dragging Sergio back to Priya’s building.

“Maxxie, this is  _humiliating_ ,” Sergio whined. “I’ll never be able to be shirtless  _again_.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s a sweet tattoo. Everyone’s going to want one!”

“I’m  _never_  speaking to you  _again_.”

“Oh stop being such a baby.”

“I’m  _not_  being a  _baby,”_  he huffed, his arms crossing over his chest. He winced as he touched the fresh tattoo. “It’s a  _cartoon_. I have a  _reputation_ to uphold.”

Maxwell just smirked, dragging him inside.

“I’m going to find that movie room again,” he announced, clapping Sergio on the back. He’d finally found the room he was looking for and was happy to find that the movie was still playing on a loop. He had settled into a seat, watching the scenes unfold before him. He’d been with Priya himself several times now, but he’d never seen her quite as animalistic as she was in this video.  _Maybe I can pick up some pointers from this dude._  He certainly was able to dominate her in a way that Maxwell had never been able to.

Just as the man had bent Priya across the top of the bar, he heard her scream from the other room. Before he knew it, loud shouting had erupted, along with crashing and shattering noises.

“How  _dare_  you disrespect  _my_  property by defiling it with this…this… _thing_?!?”

Maxwell had popped his head out of the room to see her throwing things at Sergio. He didn’t think the tattoo would be a problem. After all, it was pretty damn prominent on  _him_  and she didn’t’ seem to care about that.

“Where is he???”

“The … the theatre room, my Queen.”

The sound of her stilettos echoed off the walls as she marched down the hall. Maxwell ducked back inside, hoping to avoid her wrath, as well as any projectiles she might still feel like throwing. She threw open the door, slamming it so hard it broke the plaster on the walls.

Her eyes darted to the large projection screen. As she registered what was playing, they widened to the size of saucers before turning scarlet red. She was at the projection room in a flash, ripping the door off its hinges and pulling the houseboy from the booth. She held him over her head by his throat, baring her fangs at him before sinking her teeth into his throat, draining him until he passed out. She threw him to the floor like he weighed nothing, his unconscious form landing in a limp heap.

“You’re fired, boy.”

Maxwell whimpered at the sight of what she’d done to her houseboy. What else might she be capable of? She rounded on him, hearing the small noise he’d made. She moved to his side impossibly fast, making no sound as she did so. Her otherworldly beauty was twisted into a cruel mask, her eyes dead and cold.

“I thought I’d be able to have some fun with you, my pet,” she whispered into his skin, intoxicating him even through his haze of fear. “But it would appear you don’t understand your place here.”

She ran a hand up his chest, stopping at his throat, squeezing lightly. “Do I need to punish you to make you behave?”

Maxwell heaved a sigh of relief. She wasn’t going to murder him. He muttered thanks to the apple gods and every other higher power he could think of. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly turned on by this behavior of hers, but he was also still afraid of what she might do to him.

“Um…”

“Speak up, my pet. Are you going to behave?”

“Yes?” he squeaked.

“And are you sorry for damaging my property?”

“Y-your property?”

“Sergio was my favorite toy, darling. You’ve  _drawn_  that hideous …  _cartoon_  on his beautiful body. How can I enjoy him now? I have to have it covered up or cut out.”

Holy fuck, she was serious. Maxwell decided then and there he needed to get out of there and never come back. The question was…how? Did he shag her one last time so she’d let him go? Did he reject her and risk her doing to him what she’d done to the man in the projection room? Her hand was squeezing his throat a little tighter, the other hand roaming down his body to tease at the waistband of his pants. He snorted, then broke into a fit of laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“It took an act of parliament to get these pants  _on_. I’m not sure they’ll be able to be taken back off without some kind of heavy machinery.”

She smirked. “I don’t need them to come off, dear, I just need them to come down.”

“Well, then,” he said, wiggling his hips at her. “I guess it’s time to release the Kraken.”

“To…do what?”

“You see, our house sigil is a squid…”

She held a hand to her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “ _Do_  stop talking. You ruin it when you talk.”

Well  _that_  hurt. “Okay, shutting up now! You won’t hear another peep out of me. No, sir! Uh, ma’am! I’ll be so quiet you won’t even know I’m here. Quiet as a little mouse! My lips are zipped! No words coming out of  _this_ mouth. Not today!”

“ENOUGH!” she bellowed loudly enough to shake the walls. Lance and Sergio came running into the room.

“Lance, get up to my room right now. I expect you to be naked by the time I get up there. Sergio, go get that stupid hippopotamus covered up before I remove your skin. I don’t want to see it again. And  _you_ ,” she said, rounding on Maxwell, “You will leave  _right now_. I’d kill you right here if Adrian wasn’t watching me like a damn hawk right now. He has such a hard-on for humans that we’d be starting a Clan war if I killed you right now.”

“Soooo, you’re saying you want me to go?”

“ _Get_.  _Out_.  _NOW_!”

She didn’t need to tell him twice. He was out the door, sprinting back to his hotel in the rain, thunder echoing around him as lightning pierced the sky. New York certainly was one hell of a city. As he walked, he ruminated on the events of the past few days. He should never have left for that club with Lance and Sergio. He should never have gone out to that alleyway with Priya. He should never have stayed in her building when he woke up. Hell, he should never have turned Nadia down last night. What the hell was he thinking? She invited him  _in_. He was  _such_  an idiot sometimes. These thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He glanced at the caller ID and answered it with an impish grin.

“Lord of the dance speaking, how can I help you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I must have the wrong number because I was trying to reach Maxwell Beaumont. Guess I’ll have to hang up!”

“No! Wait! Nadia, it’s me! Maxwell!”

Laughter erupted from the other end of the line. “I know that, silly. I was just messing with you. Where are you?”

That was actually a really good question. One he wasn’t sure he had the answer to. He thought he’d be able to find his way back to the hotel on his own, but he’d only managed to get himself lost. He really couldn’t do anything right. He heaved a deep sigh and admitted the truth.

“I honestly don’t know.”

Another laugh. “Max, you’re in good company. Everyone gets lost in New York at least once. The good news is, everything is on a grid. Find the nearest cross street and tell me where you are.”

He walked back to the corner to look at the street signs, getting more and more soaked by the second. He reported the cross streets to her.

“I’m at Broadway and Canal Street.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s  _perfect!!_ You’re just a couple of blocks from my studio! Go up Broadway to Grand, then turn right. My studio is two blocks up to the left. You might want to get a car. Not sure if you noticed or not, but it’s pouring outside.”

“Thanks for the weather report.”

“Ha! Any time. Hurry up, I have a surprise for you.”

Maxwell grinned as he ended the call and slipped his phone into his pocket. He was going to have to put it in rice later to get all the moisture out of it. His hair was soaked through and dripping, the weight of the water making it fall down his forehead into his eyes. His clothes were soaked, feeling heavier. It was cold and he was shaking, his teeth beginning to chatter. He decided it would be better to walk rather than stand around waiting for a car. Besides, the walk would warm him up.

Soon he had found the studio Nadia led him to. The building was large and imposing, like most buildings in New York, and a line of blue bicycles lined the street out front. He climbed the front steps, hoping the glass doors would be unlocked. He was in luck. He made his way inside the building, which seemed to be empty but for him.

“Nadia?” he called out, making his way through the large gallery in the front.

“I’m back here, Maxwell!”

Their voices echoed in the large room. He made his way down the hall toward the sound of her voice. He saw one room off to the side with light flooding out into the hall. He peeked in the doorway and saw what he was sure was the coolest room ever.

“Whoa, Nadia! I always wanted my bedroom back home to look like this, but Bertrand’s head would have exploded. I mean, maybe fewer canvases. Or at least have them hung on the wall…”

“You like it?” she asked. “This is where I create! Everyone else tells me it’s too cluttered or disorganized, but this is the best way for me to be able to talk to my muse.”

“It’s perfect!”

A wide grin was on her face. He would forget sometimes how beautiful she was until he saw her again, and she’d take his breath away. He could swear she was positively sparkling, shimmering in the lights of the studio. The tension in the air shifted, his heart starting to beat faster as he locked eyes with her.

“So,” he continued, trying to break the tension between them, “you said you had a present for me?”

“I do! But Max, you’re soaked. Shouldn’t we take you back to the hotel and dry you off first?”

“No! Presents first, definitely.”

“Okay, but…” she paused, biting her lip. “This is something that I really poured my heart into, and all I ask is that if you don’t like it, you just let me down gently, okay? Please?”

She sounded so vulnerable at that moment, his heart almost broke at the thought that she would consider the possibility that he wouldn’t like something she’d made for him. He just knew he’d love it.

She picked something up from the table behind her. He saw her shoulders rise and fall as though working up the nerve to turn back around. She turned and held it up for him. His jaw dropped at the sight. It was certainly original, and  _very_  Nadia.

“Really?” he asked. “This is the present?”

She nodded. “Well? Do you hate it? You hate it. It’s stupid. I’m so sorry, I…”

“Nadia, stop. I … I love it.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

There before him in the midst of her chaotic studio stood a beautiful woman holding up a sign. It was covered in painted clusters of ruby red apples, all surrounding the colorful message in the center. It was an explosion of multi-hued glitter, forming a message he never thought he’d ever read:

> Maxwell,
> 
> I love you,
> 
> you idiot.

He was grinning like an idiot. He never thought he’d stand a real chance with her, and here she was with a grand romantic gesture that he  _definitely_  didn’t deserve.

“What do you say you come back to my hotel with me and help me get out of these wet clothes? I think we might need scissors to get these pants off, though.”

“That sounds like the best idea you’ve ever had, Max.”


End file.
